


Post 10.6

by AutumnDreams



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 21:31:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8073388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnDreams/pseuds/AutumnDreams
Summary: An AU one-shot ending to 10.6; how I wish things had ended. **Now a two-shot with a brief follow-up to the last bit**





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This little story had a mind of its own, taking over the plot I originally came up with and running away from it completely. Not a bad thing though as I like this just as much as my original thought, and it just means I'll have to write the other idea in a different story. This is set post-10.6 and is how I wish the show had ended.

He watches at the petit brunette steps onto the Grid, her movements slow and measured as she carefully steps down the two steps, the long fabric of her overcoat brushing around her knees. The brunette hair that he has always noticed first about is her swaying around her face, framing her bright eyes and the slight smile filling her lips, and he thinks to himself how beautiful she is. His eyes travel to her left hand, currently pressing against the black messenger bag she has slung crisscross across her small frame.

No wedding ring.

Not that he ever saw one during the week that she was training him on the various systems he'd be using, but he'd never had the chance to inquire if she was seeing anyone or not. Watching as she pauses a moment, her breath slightly labored, and her shoulders hunched in pain, his mouth pulls into a calculated smile.

 _"Perfect,"_ he thinks to himself, pushing his chair back as he stands. _"Just what I need to put myself back into her orbit."_

He's about to cross to her side, offer to take the bag for her, ask her for coffee or dinner that evening, when the office door slides open and his boss steps out. At the frown filling the older man's face, Christopher wonders what has gotten the old timer all out of sorts. He watches as the man's frown softens as he reaches the woman in quick, measured steps, his hands gently pulling the bag off her before even speaking to her.

From this distance, Christopher cannot hear what is being said, but from the unspoken words being shared in their gazes, he knows that she is not single. Shaking his head, he sinks back into his chair, watching as Harry slowly walks beside the woman, pausing to let her cross the threshold into his office first before following her and closing the door.

Opening the messaging system, he quickly types in a message, his intent to send it to Dmitri, the reality sending it to everyone in the section in his haste.

* * *

Setting the bag temporarily on his desk, Harry turns to Ruth, watching as she undoes the buttons holding her coat closed. She is grimacing, and not for the first time, he wishes she had extended her leave a few more weeks. It has only been two months since Sasha stabbed her in the chest, collapsing her lung, and causing extensive muscle damage and severe blood loss; and only a matter of weeks since she had her last surgery.

However, stubborn as she is, Ruth had insisted she would be fine, her job being nothing more than office work. Stepping close to her, he pushes her hands down, his own raising to gently remove the coat. Tossing it over the bag, he takes her hand in his, squeezing it as he uses his other to brush her hair behind her ear. "I wish you had stayed home," he says, his voice soft.

"I'm alright Harry," she says tightly, her eyes warm even as she stands her ground. They have been having the same argument daily ever since she had returned to work the Monday before, and while his visible concern for her was touching and filled her with warmth, he was becoming overbearing.

At home, he insisted on doing everything for her from feeding the animals to carrying her book from the sitting room to bed. She finds it sweet, and soul warming, as no one has ever cared enough to tend to her like this. Living with Harry was nothing like she pictured; the cold, ordered and sometimes hard man of the Grid almost non-existent, replaced with a warm, relaxed, and personable Harry who did not mind some disorder.

All in all their personal lives were meshing together with little discord, and the only real area of discontent was that she was recovering from a stab wound to the chest, limiting things between them. And bringing out Harry's tender side.

"You are not," he says, his voice startling her from the slight thoughtfulness she had been in. "You've been running all over White Hall for meetings this week, pushing yourself to far too fast."

"I've a job to do, meeting with people is to be expected, I cannot ignore security matters just because I'm recovering," she answers, her fingers squeezing his as she smiles. "William," she starts, watching as he cringes with her use of the Home Secretary's first name, knowing he does not like the familiarity between her new boss and her, "has ensured that I have a staff car to take me anywhere I need to go and a security officer to keep people from running into me."

"People should come to you," he mutters, eyes flicking to the closed blinds before pulling her gently into his embrace. "I'm just worried about you. It wasn't long ago that I thought I'd lost you, yet again to my past and work."

Laying her cheek against his chest, she feels the warmth of his solid body against hers and she sighs, feeling the muscles in her torso relaxing some as she breathes in his unique scent. "I'm right here," she says softly, turning her face upwards to meet his eyes, "and I'm not planning on going anywhere. We have our seaside cottage to delight in."

"Hmm," he says at the mention of their future home, "I'm sorry we have to delay that part of our life together."

"It's not your fault Harry, we both have commitments. The four months until you retire will pass quickly." She smiles at this, watching his expression closely.

"Not quickly enough," he counters, holding her tighter. "I've this…fear; a feeling really; that something else will happen to one of us, ultimately ending things for us."

"It could," she says softly, moving a hand to rest against his heart as she pushes back slightly, "but I don't think the universe will be that cruel. And even if it is, we have this time together, and the memories we're creating."

"It's not enough," he says, fingers brushing along her spine. "I know it's greedy, perhaps even selfish, but this isn't enough time for me. I want years together, the chance to really experience a life together. We almost didn't get this; first with you being angry at me, telling me you wanted me out of your life, that we mean nothing to each other, and then, just as I get you back, Sasha stabbing you."

Lifting herself carefully, always aware of her healing wound, she presses her lips against his. Feeling him respond, she smiles, pulling back after a moment to gaze at him, and speaking softly. "I'm right here, and I'm not planning on going anywhere for a good long while." Seeing his smile, she pushed back slowly, stepping away with a sigh. "I'm meant to be going over your latest report on the recommendations for national security, filling in the areas that you purposely left out."

Arms lowering, he feels the Cheshire grin fill his face as he helps her into the seat. "I don't know what you're talking about," he says, moving around the desk to his own seat.

"I'm onto you Harry Pearce," she says, her own smile wide. Reaching for the black bag as he turns to his computer, she pulls out a file, settling as well as she can in the hard chair.


	2. Chapter 2

As she steps down into the sitting room, her breath catches. It is not the birds hopping about outside the large window that has her pausing, but the tender site of man and baby asleep on the sofa. Her hand catches the wood of the doorframe as she watches the slow rise and fall of her husband's chest, one large hand covering the side of the baby's head, the other resting on the cloth-covered lower back. Nappy covered rump in the air, the infant sighs, pushing further into the safe embrace he's currently held in.

Slowly she lowers the cloth bag of lecture books she had carried into the cottage to the floor, her breath slow and steady as she tries not to make a sound. Leaning into the wood, she toes off her heeled shoes; the coolness of wood against her stocking feet has her shivering as she pads across the room, mindfully aware of the creaky floorboard. As she nears the thick arm, her intention is to settle on it to watch them sleep, however that thought is changed when he speaks.

"I can feel you watching me," he mutters, honeyed voice thick with sleep.

His eyes remain closed as she instead settles beside him on the thick cushion, her fingers brushing at the golden brown curls atop of his. "I thought you were asleep," she says quietly, eyes meeting his as they blink open.

"Not since you came home," he answers his grip tightening as he shifts forward into a sitting position. Leaning towards his wife, their lips meet in a soft greeting, Ruth's hand moving to cover his on the baby's head. "How was school," he asks as she settles beside him, her head coming to rest against his shoulder as they both settle together.

"Enlightening," she murmurs with a soft sigh, not asking how it is he knew she was home when she had been silent as a mouse, instead loving how her body relaxes into his warmth. "The students this year have such wonderful ideas, and are open to discussion more so than my last class." Feeling his arm settle around her shoulders, she turns her head to meet his eyes. "How was grand pop duty?"

"Wonderful," he says, pausing to look down at the sleeping boy in his arms. "Not much of a duty at all. We ate, walked, and napped." Leaning forward, he presses a kiss against the dewy curls atop the boy's head, a smile growing across his features as he sees so much of his daughter in the infant. "You're all your mother, aren't you?" he mutters to the baby, "And nothing at all like your father."

"Harry!" Ruth admonishes, her head lifting as she turns her body to look at him. "Don't start."

"Mom-mom Ruth should agree with Pop-pop," he mutters, shifting his eyes from the baby to his wife.

"I don't see what it is you have against him, he's a devoted husband and a wonderful father," she says, shaking her head as she reaches to brush her fingers against the baby's head.

"You don't see how he looks at you," he says, eyes traveling from her face to the knee-length skirt she is wearing. "Which reminds me, you need to go put trousers on. Catherine and _Christopher_ ," he says the name with a slight growl, "will be here before too long."

"What is it exactly that you have against him," she asks, ignoring his request. "It can't all be because he married your daughter."

"You know why," he says, eyes intently on hers.

Shaking her head, Ruth does know why, but even after all these years, she can't understand why Harry can't leave it go. "Harry, he sent that e-mail _two_ _years_ ago."

"Time has no meaning when that _boy_ thought he was good enough for you, having the audacity to question _why_ you were with me to the entire team. Via e-mail." He stops a moment, shifting his hold on his grandson before continuing. "AND he slept with my daughter while still trying to get you to have dinner with him."

"And," she says, carefully taking the baby into her own arms, "you know I set him straight that afternoon, telling him in no uncertain terms that not only was I not interested in coffee, dinner, or lunch with him, but that I was taken and would _never_ be interested in having a meal with him."

Cuddling the sleeping Nathaniel to her chest, she smiles down at the baby they have been caring for for the last week while their son-in-law had followed Catherine to the unstable Middle East while she filmed her latest documentary. "I would think," she continues, turning to lean into him again, "that you would be happy that he refused to let Catherine go alone on her latest film, that his insisting on traveling with her would raise him in your esteem."

"If he manages to get himself killed, than yes, I'll have a better opinion of him," he mutters, pulling Ruth tightly against his side. "Or even maimed."

"You don't mean that," she says softly, turning her face up to him.

"No," he says with a sigh, "I don't mean that. I just wish he'd remember that he's married to my daughter and not my wife."

"He only does it to get a rise out of you." Turning back to the baby, she smiles. "He's done it ever since you decked him for questioning what it is that I saw in you."

"I didn't punch him for questioning what you saw in me, I punched him for implying that we were together to better your career, or because you were attracted to my supposed power. And having the nerve to send it to all of Section D in that bloody e-mail."

"My black knight," she says, smiling as she remembers that afternoon so long ago, when they were both still working for Her Majesties Service.


End file.
